"He settled himself in a chair, directly in range of the light; smiled, and lifted his eyebrows. ’So...? Well, I can believe you. This office, you know, is the heart of all adventure. The most romantic room in the East—presided over by the very genius of romance’ He bowed toward Lee Fu, and touched a match to a long Manila. ’Genius, or demon, which is it, now?’ he chuckled, his eyes twinkling from Lee Fu to me. "’You honour me, Captain’ interposed Lee Fu quickly, cutting me off from the necessity of speaking. ’If, indeed, you do not flatter. I merely observe and live. It is life that may be called the heart of all adventure—life, with its amazing secrets that one by one transpire into the day, and with its enormous burden of evil that weighs us down like slaves’ "Wilbur laughed. ’Yes, that’s it, no doubt. But there’s some good, too, Lee Fu—plenty of good. Don’t be a pessimist. Yet you’re right enough in a way; the evil always does manage to be more romantic’ "’Much more romantic’ observed Lee Fu ’And the secrets are more romantic still. Consider, for instance, the case of a man with a dark secret that by chance has become known, though he is not aware of the fact. How infinitely romantic! He feels secure; yet inevitably it will be disclosed. When, and how? Such a case would be well worth watching ... as the great poet had in mind when he wrote "Murder will out"’ "The winged words made no impression on their mark. Wilbur met Lee Fu’s glance frankly, innocently, with interest and even with a trace of amusement at the other’s flight of fancy. The full light of the lamp illuminated his features, the least fleeting expression couldn’t have escaped us. By Jove, he was superb; the damned rascal hadn’t a nerve in his body. To be sure, he still had no suspicion, and attributed Lee Fu’s shaft to a mere chance; yet this very factor of safety lent additional point to the finish of his dissimulation. He might at least have indulged himself in a start, a glance, a knitting of the eyebrows; his conscience, or his memory if he hadn’t a conscience, might have received a faint surprise. But his watchfulness must have been unfailing, automatic. Or was it that a reminder of his appalling crime woke no echo at all in his breast?